They Said She Was Strong So They Never Had To Choose Her Chapter 10
At twenty-six, the deep space observation project I was part of officially published its results.
After the press conference, a reporter asked me why I had chosen astrophysics.
I looked back at the nebula image behind me and thought about the rainstorm when I was sixteen.
That day, I had run up the mountain alone. Not out of anger, and not out of stubbornness.
I had just heard about a rare meteor shower.
The storm had come in too hard, and I got stranded on an abandoned lookout.
When the three of them found me, they were soaked through.
Grayson had carried me down. Ethan had held the umbrella over me. Julian had gripped my hand and promised, over and over, that from that day on he would choose me first.
At that age, I had believed that promise more than I believed in stars.
Later I understood. Even stars burn out. Of course promises change too.
“Because I love looking up at the sky.”
I smiled at the reporter.
“The universe doesn’t erase one star just because another one is more fragile.”
After the interview aired, my mother sent me a voice message.
She said she had redone the yard, and set aside a stargazing room for me.
If I had time, she said, I could come see it.
I didn’t reply right away.
The project team had given me a long break. In the end, I booked a flight home.
Not to reconcile with anyone.
Just that after all those years, the city no longer frightened me.
My mother picked me up from the airport.
She stood at arrivals without rushing to hug me. She just asked if I was tired.
On the way back, we passed the old street I used to know.
More than half the shops had changed. The stationery store I used to love was now a coffee shop.
My mother told me Grayson had gotten engaged.
Ethan lived out of state now, only home for holidays.
Julian had never married.
After that last line, she glanced at me carefully.
I looked out the window and didn’t answer.
Whether or not someone was still waiting had nothing to do with me anymore.
Back at the house, my old room was still in the same place.
The walls had been repainted. The shelves were filled with astronomy books. A new telescope was set up by the window, and the photo album sat on the desk.
I picked it up idly.
They had added a lot more photos.
In the pages where I had been missing, they had inserted blank Polaroids with hand-written apologies on them.
Grayson had written that he shouldn’t have taken my patience for weakness.
Ethan had written that he finally understood what a storage room with no windows meant.
Julian had written the least.
Just one line.
【The person who was given up on shouldn’t have to carry the forgiving.】
The last page held five faded answer cards.
The one that had been mine had Julian’s name written on it.
Nobody had ever asked me whose name I’d written that night.
The truth was, in the second round of the game, I hadn’t just been the one asking. I had been a player too.
If only four of the five of us could stay, I had chosen to let go of Julian.
Because before the party started, I had seen him with my own eyes, putting the birthday crown I had prepared onto Mia’s head.
I just still had one last shred of hope in him then, so I hadn’t shown my card.
It turned out that before they gave me up, I had once thought about giving up one of them too.
In the end, I chose to leave all three of them in the past.
I closed the album and put it back on the shelf.
My mother stood in the doorway and asked, softly.
“What do you want for dinner?”
“Egg fried rice.”
She paused, then nodded with a smile.
“Okay. I’ll go get some eggs.”
Egg fried rice had been my favorite thing she made when I was little.
Then Mia had said she didn’t like scallions, and the fried rice at our house never had scallions in it again.
When dinner came out, the bowl was flecked with tiny bits of green.
I ate it quietly. I didn’t say it was good. I didn’t say it wasn’t.
Early the next morning, I took the telescope up to the mountaintop.
My mother didn’t ask to come with me. She just handed me a jacket on the way out.
The lookout that had once trapped me had been rebuilt. A number of people were already at the railing, waiting for sunrise.
I set up my equipment and pointed the lens toward the brightening sky.
Just before the sun rose, a meteor streaked across the horizon.
Short, and bright.
The people around me gasped and shut their eyes to make wishes.
I didn’t make one.
Because the freedom, the respect, the wide open sky that I had once wanted, I had already given to myself.
My phone buzzed.
My mother wanted to know when I’d be back for breakfast.
I texted her back.
【After the sunrise.】
Once the message went through, I lifted my head.
Morning light spilled over the mountain range and settled slowly onto my face.
Many years ago, I used to think that happiness meant being chosen by everyone.
Then I walked seventeen hundred miles on my own, and finally understood.
Real happiness has never been about waiting for someone to write your name on a card.
It’s about having the courage to walk away from a table that was never yours, no matter who else gets to stay.
The wind pulled at the hem of my jacket. I shouldered my equipment and started walking down the sunlit trail.
This time, there was no one beside me.
But I no longer felt alone.